


just an accident (when i hurt myself again)

by cerosev



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Internalized Transphobia, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Takes place in Season One, Trans Diego Hargreeves, i wrote this in like 20 minutes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:14:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26043325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerosev/pseuds/cerosev
Summary: (please, i beg of you, read the tags ! if anything there triggers you, please don't click on this story!)addictions are hard to handle, especially when you are the one enforcing them.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 20





	just an accident (when i hurt myself again)

**Author's Note:**

> hehe so sorry for this dump, i care trans diego but i wanted to vent a bit and whats not better to do that than projecting onto a character i like?
> 
> its not that great hdhdhjs i just wanted to post something before my next fic

Diego let his fingers trace over the scars on his chest, two of them, ugly and reminding. He doesn’t want to remember, he doesn’t want to constantly be reminded of what a phony he truly is.

No matter how many people say that he’s a real boy, or that he’s valid, he can never shake off the feeling that he’s a liar.

He quickly pulled his shirt back down, too ashamed to look anymore, the heartbreak in his bones unbearable.  _ Why couldn’t I have just been born a boy, a real boy. Why do I have to keep lying to everyone? They all feel bad for me, they all don’t really see me as a boy, just a psycho,  _ The thoughts raced through his head, his heart felt empty.

Like muscle memory, he fished into his pocket, quickly pulling out his knife. It was his favorite, or it used to be, for how easy it was to throw. Now, it just feels like a prison, such a tiny object holding a bounty over his head.

It was sharp, perfectly tailored for a situation like this, perfectly gliding on his skin like a butterfly kiss. Cutting through paper, fabric,  _ skin _ beautifully, running lines against his body, racing to the end, a raindrop falling down the car window.

Oh, how did it end up like this?

Diego remembers, he remembers the first time it happened. It wasn’t meant to happen, he was stressed, he was angry, and he took it out on himself. He remembers the baby cuts, the ones that only puffed up and made him more angry because  _ he can’t even do this right _ . Afterwards, he cried, thinking about how his family would react.

He laughed. They didn’t notice.

Of course they wouldn’t notice. His power revolved mainly around knives; there’s no way they wouldn’t just chalk it up to him getting into another fight. His poor family, so naive and trusting, just because he didn’t look like the kind of person who would do something such as this.

After he did it again, the hunger was never satisfied. Every day, his brain asked for more. More blood, more pain, more feelings. He always gave in, no matter how hard he tried, and he regretted calling Klaus all those names for being an addict, because after experiencing it himself, he can confirm it is not easy to stop.

Like they say, karma is always out to get you, no matter what she has to do for it.

At first it felt bad. It felt bad to lie about what was going on, it felt bad to say he was okay when he clearly wasn’t. But as time went on, as he fell more and more numb to the pain, it felt like second nature, it felt like home.

Nobody could find out, and nobody would find out.

He’s always covered up, wearing layers of something and nobody ever questions him. It’s sad, maybe so, but Diego would rather pass out from his art, be on the verge of death, than admit to somebody he needed help. No, Diego was not the kind of person to do that. He’d rather  _ die  _ than admit that, yes, something is wrong with him.

Oh.

_ Oh. _

He’s crying now, and it’s exactly the reason why he can’t admit that he’s wrong for this. Showing weakness is bad, he’s strong and that's why he gets through with this. He’s strong, and that’s why he has the energy to keep going, to get up even after he should have been left there, left there to rot.

Wiping at his eyes furiously, he raises the edge to his skin.

He counts, one, two, three, four, five. One is for crying, being weak, one is for being sick, one is for being a liar, one is for letting Patch die, and the last one is for treating his siblings like shit. The last one is significantly angrier, more emotional, and it makes him want to start over.

Breathing heavily, he climbed onto his bed, ignoring the obvious dangers of leaving his cuts untreated. It’s what he deserves, it what he deserves for starting this, for making himself like this. 

It shouldn’t have started, and now it’s never going to end.

**Author's Note:**

> hey, before you comment, please dont write anything mean !! this is a vent fic and i'm not particularly looking for criticism,, sorry!
> 
> if you're going through feelings like this, just know you are never alone!! i am always open to talk, if you need me, my discord is roro#9220. dont be shy to talk if you need to! i love you all so much, please take care of yourselves!!


End file.
